Home is Where the Heart Is
by thosetooweaktoseekit
Summary: Harry had always been a bit twisted, a bit cold, cruel. But buried deep down is a good, kind-hearted boy who desperately wants a home. Faced with a dangerous choice, to be a better wizard or a better man, will Harry embrace his darker nature or fight for the good inside? He isn't quite so sure of his decision, when the looming darkness offered the thing he always wanted. A home.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: (read the following in a deep, prophetic voice) This glorious day a story, of fanfictic fashion, shall be born-ith!

Yeah, even for me, that was weird as hell.

Deal with it!

Anyway, on with the story.

* * *

 _Young Harry Potter ended up a little differently from how it was expected. The world is about to be turned upside down._

* * *

Chapter One

 **The Guest's Confusion and the Lord's Return**

* * *

It was hot.

Unbearably so.

Sweating was a given on a day like this, when the birds dared not fly lest their wings burst into flame from the pounding heat of the accursed thing called the Sun.

But a young Harry Potter was, at that right moment, thinking that if he were a bird he'd fly up and away and take the damn chance with the unholy Sun. He would at the very least be free of the Dursleys.

"Potter! Potter get inside this instant!" The incessant shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia called from the back door. He had been weeding the area around the shed under her demand, so why would she be calling him back in? She never gave him breaks. There was also something- _off_ in her voice.

It wasn't the same harsh tone- still harsh- but not as much as expected from the likes of her, and she called him by his name. His last name, sure, but still his name. Was Vernon home earlier, and so she was displaying a facade of kindness until he came inside and the walrus of a man beat him senseless? Harry nearly shuddered at that.

Nonetheless he stood, brushed his hands off on his dirt-smeared pants, and walked into the house with head held tall. As soon as he made it in Petunia yanked him aside.

"We have a guest," she whispered furiously. Harry didn't see what this had to do with him. "A man is here to tell you about his school," she continued looking almost pained, "and you need to look presentable." Harry was about to open his mouth and say how he didn't _have_ anything presentable, but his Aunt swiftly plowed on. "I thought this day might come, and there is an outfit waiting in the laundry room. Be quick about it!" She hissed at him impatiently.

Harry was dumbfounded, Petunia bought him something. This person has to be very important, and from the way his Aunt Petunia talked she knew either about this school, that man, or both.

Harry narrowed his eyes shrewdly. Who was he going to be today?

Poor orphan boy, who misses his parents and mopes constantly?

Spoiled prat, Dudley style?

The Cryer?

The Smiles-Too-Freaking-Much?

The Airy-headed one?

The Sophisticated, I'm-Above-You-All-And-You-Will-Soon-Realize-It?

The Scared one?

The Scary one?

The Too-Wise-For-His-Years?

Or...the Masked? The one who felt and expressed nothing?

Harry was particularly proud of the last one. He debated in the laundry room what to go with as he changed (Petunia's clothing for him wasn't half-bad, if a bit mature for his age group). As he put on the dark jeans, that looked a little business-like, and the black button-up shirt, he chose to combine The Sophisticated with The Masked. To be eerily impossible to read and giving off the vibe that made anyone (or at least as far as Harry had tested it) feel inferior would be splendid fun.

Yes, Harry James Potter found scaring and disturbing people fun. Not always, just sometimes.

Like today.

Spinning around in the long laundry room mirror, Harry winked at his double before walking out.

It was a walk that was ethereal, as if he were floating instead of using his two feet. Mind you, this was without the concealing nature of wizarding robes, so feel free to be impressed. He entered the living room and calculating eyed the strange man in front of him, that seemed to be doing the same right back. He stood to an impressive height (Harry would guess about six feet).

"Mr. Potter, I presume? I am a part of the staff at Hogwarts School of WitchCraft and Wizardry. I'm here to oversee your shopping."

It took all of Harry's composure to not react to that, to maintain a cold, blank look.

"Would you fancy some tea?" He said, perching on the couch seat elegantly. "It seems we have quite a lot to discuss, you and I." The strange man eyed Harry in an uncomprehensible way.

"And why is that?" The staff member from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry asked. Harry smiled.

It was condescending.

It was pitying.

It was deceiving.

It was layered so that he was sure few would even see past the simple action of a child smiling.

And it was eerily familiar to one Severus Snape. So, as a nervous, flitting Petunia poured tea into cups, the dour man tried to place where he had seen that truthful lying smile before.

All the while, a motionless, emotionless Harry watched on like a predator circling the skies over its prey below.

Wizardry, he thought. Oh, Petunia, how we've kept secrets.

He went back to watching the stranger try and decipher that which was Harry. Well, he decided, if people can keep their secrets- then I'll keep mine.

Even when I tear yours out from your mouths you'll never penetrate that which is my mind, my fortress, my secrets, he thought viciously- simultaneously taking a gentle sip from the chamomile tea.

* * *

Somewhere in the dark of Deutschland Alley, sat a pair of old companions.

"Would you fancy some tea?" Said the taller man, not knowing that he was echoing the words of another, far away."It seems we have quite a lot to discuss, you and I."

The second bowed his head slightly, and the faint light of the street lamp lit upon his silvery hair. "Yes, m'lord. Yes, m'lord, we certainly do." The silvery head rose now, and grey eyes met sanguine ones. He held out a tentative arm and said, "But perhaps we would enjoy such a lengthy converse to take place in more comfortable a surrounding?" The Lord let a small lifting of the corners of his mouth answer the man.

So with a soft pop, the old companions vanished, and reappeared in a lavish sitting room.

The man with the shining hair sat gracefully into an armchair.

"Welcome back, m'lord, to Malfoy Manor." The crimson eyes of the Dark Lord met the ones of Lucius Malfoy once more.

"I am glad to be back, Lucius. So very glad indeed.

Now, shall we be having that tea?"

* * *

Back in the drab living room of number four Privet Drive, someone felt a slight twinge in an old scar.

But he ignored it, and moved on.

Probably just a figment of his imagination, right?

* * *

Author's Note: So, in this one Harry's gonna be independent, powerful, and a bit cruel. He'll have a lot of struggles with doing what is right and what he wants to do. Darkish Harry, I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: **Finally,** am I right?

Also, a disclaimer as I believe those are necessary. I do use near perfect quotation of the scene between Ollivander and Harry about how 'special' his wand is. I love it too much to change it and subsequently butcher it.

 **Fröhliche Weihnachten!**

* * *

Last Chapter...

* * *

 _"Welcome back, m'lord, to Malfoy Manor." The crimson eyes of the Dark Lord met Malfoy's once more._

 _"I am glad to be back, Lucius, so very glad indeed._

 _Now, shall we be having that tea?"_

 _Back in the drab living room of Number Four Privet Drive, someone felt a slight twinge in an old scar._

 _But he ignored it, and moved on._

 _Probably just a figment of his imagination, right?_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Look Me in the Eyes**

* * *

Harry soaked in the Professor's drawl, absorbing all he could on this 'magic'. It certainly explained the wonderful things he could do (more like terrible if you asked Petunia) but he knew he must not reveal his excitement. His thirst for more knowledge on this newly vast world could easily be exploited.

He practiced subtlety over his feelings, but the Professor did no such thing. He seemed to practically spit his dislike of Harry in every word, and if the Professor really thought he was intimidating Harry then he was dreadfully wrong. Only two men could inspire true fear in Harry, enough where he was at the point his 'magic' would not rise to command in defense. His anger was immense, to know that these _muggles_ as the Professor called them, could render him pathetically weak due to his fear when he was above them in all terms.

But he did not allow his strong emotions to trickle through his impassive outer face, in all the meanwhile of the Professor talking.

Harry had never met this man, and yet the Professor was nearly venomous in his every single syllable.

Harry was almost...upset. This man's personal grudge against his person was clearly going to limit his ability to fully indulge in the new and necessary-to-obtain knowledge of Magic. He felt questions were not going to be appreciated.

What a waste. Who ever sent this imbecile, has not made a friend in Harry Potter.

"So, Mr. Potter," the Professor drawled with a strong flavor of disgust, " _That_ is why I will be accompanying you to Diagon Alley for your schooling supplies. We will depart shortly, I am sure you have no issue with this Petunia?" Harry's aunt smiled as sweetly as the horse was able to. The Professor had indeed just exposed his parent's pasts to him, and in extension, Petunia's lies. it must have been difficult for her to give any assurance to the man, false or not.

"None at all," she simpered, eyes flitting to her nephew. "Enjoy your trip, Harry." His name rolled around oddly in her mouth, she was so acustomed to referring to him as "boy" or "freak" or "devil-child". Severus seemed to raise a questioning brow, but in the end ignored her tone.

Harry stood in sync with the tall, sallow man, who was flicking invisible lint from his shirt. They made eye contact but the Professor spun around on his heel and marched for the front door.

"Coming, Mr. Potter?" He barked. Harry felt his right eye twitch in frustration just slightly, but silently made his way after the Professor, onto the street, then 'apparating' (it felt rather like being suffocated), through the streets of what was most certainly London, then finally to a shady pub that every passerby's eyes slid over without hesitation.

The Leaky Cauldron. Hm.

Throughout their little travel the two had stayed completely void of the pretense of friendly small talk. Not willingly to start then, Harry just walked into the bar with the Professor. A man at the counter waved half-heartedly and Harry could not blame him- the Professor Snape did not hold himself in the slightest approachable manner.

Harry glanced conspicously around the pub, it was empty except three men at the bar itself who seemed to be in no acquaintance with each other and one man reading something called 'The Daily Prophet' at one of the wooden benches. Not too impressive for his first magical world impression. It was rather ordinary, in fact.

The Professor continued on past the barkeeper who Harry offered a shy smile to, before opened a door to a brick wall. With a few taps of a thin piece of wood that he whipped out of his pocket, the bricks shimmered before vanishing completely. Before them now laid a cobblestone street that was clearly worn, with colorful and altogether wild-looking shops. The names of the stores were even more outrageous! But even as all this was rather interesting for Harry, there was one thing that bothered him with the feast of new _information_ that lies before him, and that is the magicals themselves.

Their clothing, for the most part, held no elegance of any sort. They looked all like muggles in rainbow dresses! The occasional wizard or witch would glid through, dressed impeccably, but the majority looked insane. Positively nutters!

They were mismatched, bumbling fools. Anyone knows that being aesthetically pleasing is one of the number one quick-endearing tricks, and that has nothing to do particularly with your 'looks' per say but rather how you hold yourself, how clean you are and how neatly you dress, etc. It is not uncommon for some to disregard this obvious fact, but this was absurd!

Have they no diginity?!

"Mr. Potter," the Professor spoke again- in _that_ tone which already was becoming far too familiar, "I have already done the chore of retrieving an unreasonable amount of money for your supplies for your upcoming school year from your trust vault, as directed to me. I will give it to you in the trust you will not spend it frivolously- if you should do so expect to see the dungeons an inordinate amount of nights this school year- and only enter the shops which I direct you to." The dour man quickly removed a small square piece of paper from his front pocket, and a small pouch, no bigger than Harry's hand. He waved his hand whilst muttering under his breath, and the paper grew slightly and ink began to form shapes and words upon it. He sharply thrust both objects into Harry's hands.

He eyed the boy distrustfully.

"I would not leave you on your own, if this matter of business were not so essential and classified and far too important for your ears, Mr. Potter," the Professor continued speaking. "But so it must be done- and believe me Mr. Potter if you _wander_ I will not save you from the trouble you are bound to end up in. Knuts are bronze. Sickles are silver. Galleons are gold." With a sharp turn on his foot, and a billow of his long cloak, the Professor vanished into the throng of magicals.

Harry stood for a minute, thinking of the merits of actually listening to the man's directions and then of course _what does he mean by putting nights and dungeons in the same sentence_. He decided upon winging it, if something caught his fancy he would look into it regardless of it not being one of marked shops on the little map-out of Diagon Alley.

Onto the next issue- the odd pouch (that Harry assumed carried the aforementioned money from a trust vault he did not know existed was far) was far too small to have much contents. Magic, could be the only answer. He opened it and slowly put his hand within, and realized that he could stretch out his arm right down into it! Astounded and a little bit amused, he quickly removed his hand with a couple of large gold coins. With a smile, he began his descent into the bustling street.

He weaved effortlessly among the sloppy gaits of the men and women and made his way toward a rather dusty and dull shop. Very gray in comparison to the too bright Diagon norm. It read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_ and Harry felt a strong jolt of excitement. He was about to recieve something that will amplify and channel his maigc, his worth!

He pushed the door open, and was met with rows upon rows of dusty narrow boxes. There was no one inside, not even a manager or perhaps one of these Ollivanders. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said. And suddenly an old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Afternoon, sir," Harry said awkwardly.

"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr. Ollivander (for Harry felt it could be no other) moved closer. Harry wanted him to blink. Those peering silver eyes were quite a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliant. A little bit more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr. Ollivander had become so uncomfortably close Harry could see himself in those misty eyes. He restrained from telling the man off- it would do no good to aggravate someone of unknown power and influence in this new world.

"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched the jagged scar on Harry's forehead with one white finger and Harry nearly threw any thought of diplomacy out the window. He barely held on to control, yet still did. Who was this man to touch him?!

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands..." Harry waited in silence, thinking it best not to say anything as this man discussed the murder of his parents and the attemted murder performed on himself so carelessly. The man did snap out of it eventually.

"Well now, Mr. Potter, let me see..." He pulled out a long measuring tape with silver marking out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?" Harry decided this must be similiar to a writing hand.

"My left arm, sir."

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, phoenixes, and dragons are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." Shaking out of his new-information reverie, Harry noticed the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils was doing so on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting between the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled up onto the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter, try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Give it a wave." Harry waved it once and Ollivander snatched it out his hand.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-" Harry attempted but he had hardly lifted it before the man took it back.

"No, no, here- ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, quite springy. Go on, go on, try it out." Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what sign Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on a spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled down from the shelves, the happier that he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere- I wonder, now- yes, why not- unusual combination- holly and phoenix feather, twelve and a quarter inches, nice and supple." Harry took this wand with the resignation it would be yet again ripped from his hands, but instead he felt a warm feeling in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, then brought it swooshing down through the dusty air and a stream of gold and green sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..." He put Harry's wand back in its box and wrapped in its brown paper still muttering, "Curious... curious... curious..."

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, "but what exactly is so curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every single wand I've ever sold Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother- why its brother gave you that scar."

Harry was mind blown, quite literally. He remembered the Professor saying a wizard murdered his parents and he was the only survivor by accident, but to hear that his wand was brother to this dead wizard's was nearly offensive. It was like offing himself and then screwing it up and landing himself at the Dursleys.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things- terrible, yes, but great." A

That was what Harry was left with when he exited the shop after paying four galleons. He flagged the occurence down for further investigation when he spotted a robe shop across the street. It was time to see if wizarding attire could offer acceptable aesthetic options.

He entered and immeadiately a young woman with a pinched look about her face arrived in front of him.

"What can I help you with?" Harry looked around and asked pleasantly,

"Perhaps a selection of formal robes, daily wear, and special occasion would be suitably enough, thank you." She barely blinked.

"Tailored or self?"

"Tailored."

'Follow me to the fitting rooms, where we will observe your measurements and you can select color and fabric." Harry dutifully did so, and was pleasantly surprised with an airy room with big windows and lush decor. A couple of men in their twenties were laughing together by the fabrics. And a lone woman stood by the colors with a sour look. And a boy, maybe about Harry's age, or a tad bit older, stood on one of the many pedestals surrounded by fluttering measuring tapes.

The woman who brought Harry in brought him to the pedestal next to the boy and gestured for him to mount. Once he did so, she vanished, and many measuring tapes began to wrap themselves pratically everywhere.

"You headed for Hogwarts, too?" The boy next to him spoke.

"Yes, and I would wager you are as well," Harry replied, once again not wishing to begin any discord before observing his options. It was best to engage the boy in coversation until he was aware of his use. The blonde boy (whom actually was dressed in a way that was suitably pleasing to Harry) laughed.

"Yes, of course. I'm going to be in Slytherin, as it is the best House. What House do you think you're going to?" The blonde questioned Harry, but before he could answer- "The name's Draco Malfoy, by the way. Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy. What's your name then?" Harry turned to face the boy, and make eye contact. A good establishment for friendly relations.

"My name is Harry Potter. Pleased to make your aquaintance." He saw the boy's eyes widen and peer at his face furiously. He must've found what he was looking for, because he leaned back into his original stance.

"Um, yeah." The boy's eloquence had abandoned him. "Well- well I, it is nice to meet you." Unable to think of anything more to say apparently, he went silent. Harry was glad, as he had no clue as to what Houses were and what Slytherin could mean and where he thought he would be 'Sorted'. The silence do not last long however.

"Are you headed to Flourish and Blotts next by any chance? I could accompany you, as Mother and Father are going to be having luncheon with Ministry associates for another good three or so hours."

"I would not find it adverse, you may if you wish. I have not acquired the majority of my school supplies. As a matter of fact, all I have managed to purchase so far has been my wand." The boy looked rather happy about this, and he straightened up even further.

"Oh! I can help you out then, if you would like."

"That would be nice of you, I wouldn't mind," Harry said. _Heir to a Most Noble and Ancient House, sounds important._ _Should probably start referring to 'boy' as Draco._

"Alright then. Do you like flying? It stinks that First years aren't allowed their own brooms or play on the Quidditch House teams. I'm a great flier, and I'm probably just going to sneak mine in. My father thinks I can't, but I'm going to do it."

"I was raised by," Harry's mouth turned down and he reluctantly said the word, "muggles. I am afraid I don't know what Quidditch is." Draco turned to him with a horrified look on his face.

"Not know what Quidditch is- raised by muggles! That sounds terrible, I heard muggles are just the worst sort of scum and to think the Heir of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House was subjected to living in one of their shacks-! Why this impossible. If my father hears of this-"

"No, please, I ask you not to," Harry cleared his throat delicately, "so widely or at all really discuss such ill matters." The establishment of a secret is a key part to building friendships, Harry had discerned from observing the children at his school.

"Well, if you don't want me to, I won't." Draco looked very determined. the woman whom had lead Harry in reappeared and asked both boys off the pedestals.

"You may now select the fabrics and colors you wish for, and we will make your requested robes to be ready for pick up in approximately two hours." Harry nodded sharply and made his way toward the fabrics. He eyed the labels, things like Acromantula Silk, Dragonhide, Hippogriff Feather, and Unicorn Pelt. He had no clue what was considered respectable and good in the Wizarding World, so he was rather baffled. But Draco, whom had trailed behind him like a lost puppy, stepped up to the plate.

"Unicorn Pelt products are always the most expensive, as it's the hardest to acquire. There also is very little of it, and so those who can afford to buy it are very, very, very wealthy. Acromantula Silk comes in second, for the same reasons, and its the expected material of the wealthiest. More common than Unicorn Pelt which is why its less expensive. Hippogriff Feather is decent, real soft stuff and hard to make clothes out of the tufts, but its not the best. Daywear, really. Dragonhide is more for protection than anything else, and it's just a protective layering of robes of regular materials like silk, satin, cotton, and so on. It doesn't mix well with other magical creature clothing articles. But its real tough and resistant to nearly all spells, so that's good." Draco looked at Harry. "It really stinks you were raised by muggles. You should know all of this!"

"Mm." Harry reached for the request form on which he would detail his desired robes, and Draco followed suit. Once looking toward the colors, Harry's read as such:

 _3 open black robes of silk_

 _1 black hat_

 _1 dark green dress robe of Acromantula silk_

 _1 dark blue dress robe of Acromantula silk_

 _1 light gray open robe of Hippogriff feather silver lined_

 _1 dark green dress robe of Acromantula silk silver lined_

 _1 black dress robe of Dragonhide and silk_

 _1 special occasion dress robe, Acromantula silk dark green with silver lining and black Acromantula silk dress shirt and pants_

 _1 special occasion dress robe, Acromantula silk dark blue with gold lining and white Acromantula silk dress shirt and pants_

Then once recalling the selection of shoes in the front he wrote down:

 _3 pairs formal shoewear black size 39_

 _3 pair formal shoewear brown size 39_

 _1 pair formal shoewear dark green size 39_

Harry knew he had rather dainty stature for a boy, and he ignored the glance Draco gave him. They both handed their forms to the lady when she reappeared, then headed toward the exit.

"Want to be friends?" Draco asked with all the bluntness of a child. Harry smiled.

"Yes," he responded. "Now where did we say we were headed to next?" As Draco began to babble on happily, Harry considered to himself it a job well done. Draco should be useful, he decided, if the Professor was always going to be so stingy with information. Books, he knew, would only teach him so much until he needed to see all the little ins and outs of magical society that weren't documented, and Draco would be a perfect help.


End file.
